15. Vlad
CHAPTER 15
VLAD
The elevator ride to my floor seems to go on forever as I watch the light travel across the buttons on the panel. My body's a traitor though, thrumming with anticipation of seeing Nico.
Damn that street thug Karlo for the ruckus he caused at the club, stressing all my boys out and holding me up. I should have been here hours ago.
The doors finally ding open and I step into the carpeted hallway, cursing under my breath.
No, wait!
Why do I even care if Nico is upset because I'm late?
When did his feelings start to matter?
As I reach the apartment, I slip the key in the lock.
The door swings open into darkness. I pause on the threshold, senses suddenly on high alert. Something feels… off. The air is too still, shadows too deep. Is he gone? Mad at me for taking forever?
I step inside cautiously, eyes scanning.
A sliver of weak light spills from the half-open bedroom door, the only illumination.
"Nico?" I call out, tossing the key into the bowl in the foyer. "You here?"
Seconds later, he emerges from the bedroom, movements abrupt. Even in the low light, I can see the tension radiating off him, jaw clenched tight, his shoulders bunched up, eyes serious.
"I would keep the shoes on if I were you," he grumbles, tone uncharacteristically grating, far from that calming sexy purr I was excited to hear tonight.
"What's going on?" I close the distance between us in several strides, holding his gaze. "Is everything—"
I pause mid-sentence when I finally see blood on his hands and on his arms, soaking his shirt. A chill races down my spine.
"The bedroom. It's a mess," Nico says with an edge of barely controlled panic before I can ask anything.
"What do you mean, 'a mess?'" I push past him, shouldering the bedroom door fully open and stepping inside.
The coppery smell hits me first. Then my eyes adjust to the weak lamplight and I see it–the gruesome scene before me.
The man lies sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, one eye staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The second eye is gone. Glass shards glitter crimson under the lamplight. The room spins as the reality slams into me, stealing my breath.
I whirl to face Nico, who has positioned himself in the corner, his fists at his sides as if he's physically trying to hold it all in. "What the hell happened here?" I demand, my voice is suddenly rough with shock.
Nico's face is a twisted mask of distress and anger, his dark hair disheveled. "What do you think happened?" he bites out. "I woke up to a stranger in the room. It was him or me, Vlad."
I turn back to the body, mind racing. Nico must have fought back, must have grabbed the decanter in desperation. That's why the glass—
I cut the thought off, bile rising in my throat. Crouching down, I inspect the corpse with a practiced eye, noting the defensive wounds. My gaze snags on a tattoo peeking out from under the man's sleeve.
With a sense of dread, I pull a pen from my jacket and use it to push back the fabric. The ink is unmistakable—Toro's mark. Same tattoo I've seen before on the man who took my little brother. White-hot anger flashes through me, my hand clenching around the pen until it almost breaks.
"He's one of Toro's men," I tell Nico without looking at him. Pieces slot into place to form a horrifying picture. "This was a hit. But I don't think you were the target." I glance up at him. "I think they were after me."
Nico's eyes narrow, a flicker of something darker than fear crossing his face. He takes a step back, shoulders tensing as if preparing for a blow. "Convenient excuse, huh?"
"I'm sorry what?" I rise up, my eyes never leaving him, my chest stiffening.
"Wouldn't that be nice if I were just gone? That way no one can ever corroborate the truth."
"What truth?"
"Our dirty little secret. Isn't this what you wanted all along?"
There's a long pause, then it occurs to me. He's considering the possibility I was the one who tried to kill him. His accusation cuts deep, deeper than I expected.
"Fuck you, Romeo!" I hiss at him, my fury barely contained. "You approached me first in LA. How do I know you're not a fucking spy?"
"No," he interrupts, voice rising. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to put this on me."
For a moment, I can only stare at him, stunned by the venom in his tone. Then I ask, but quieter, "You think I would do this? You think I would try to end you in my apartment, you fool?"
Nico laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. "I don't know what to think anymore, Vlad. I was warned about you, about how you operate. Maybe they were right."
Anger surges through me, hot and bright. I take a step forward, closing the distance between us until we're nearly nose to nose, invading his personal space. "And how exactly do I operate, Nico? You were the one who offered to buy me a drink, remember? You also asked for my help, and I gave it freely, never asking for anything in return."
He doesn't flinch, but his shoulders sag a little as if all the fight is gone out of him.
I lean forward, bringing my mouth to his ear. "If I wanted you dead, Romeo, you'd be dead already." Then I draw back and watch the pulse fluttering visibly at his throat. I gesture to the corpse sprawled across my floor. "This? This is sloppy. Not my style. Too flashy."
"Then how do you explain the fact someone tried to stab me while I was sleeping in your bed?"
"I already explained it. You just refused to listen. The attempt was on my life, not yours," I insist, mind racing. "It seems whoever tried to kill me in Mexico is determined to finish the job, no matter how many people they lose in the process." A beat. "Unless..."
I step back, surveying the room with new eyes. "Unless someone else knows about our secret."
Nico blanches, fear and confusion warring in his expression. "Who else could possibly know?"
"Vartan," I mutter, more to myself than to Nico.
He frowns. "The old Armenian?"
I meet Nico's gaze, realization settling like a lead weight in my gut. "He knows. About us. He alluded to it earlier, when I met with him to ask for leniency for your family. That favor I mentioned."
Nico looks stricken, color draining from his face. "How? We've been fucking careful."
"Not careful enough, apparently." I run a hand through my hair, frustration and anger simmering beneath my skin. Vartan's earlier words take on new meaning, his casual dismissal of my personal life now seeming like a calculated move.
But why?
What does he stand to gain from this?
"If Vartan knows, who else does?" Nico says. "My family? Yours?"
"I'm not sure."
"You understand who I am, don't you? You understand if Tony finds out I'm sleeping with the fucking enemy, he'll cut off my balls, right?"
"I happen to like your balls. Let's just say it's in my best interest to ensure he doesn't find out."
"You can joke in this situation?"
"I like to keep a positive attitude."
He motions at the dead man with both hands, eyes wide. "And what do we do with the body?"
"We handle this ourselves. Involving anyone else will only make things worse."
Nico searches my face, conflict evident in every line of his body. "Handle it how, exactly? In case you haven't noticed, his brains are all over your bedroom."
"I have some experience in that area," I say dryly.
"Great." Nico chuckles, raking his hair with both hands and looking up at the ceiling. "Now, are you going to whip out a chainsaw and ask me to cut him up?"
"Nope. When I said experience, I meant cleaning, Nico. We need to get cleaning."
* * *
The pungent reek of blood clings to my nostrils as Nico and I work in grim silence, methodically erasing the evidence of the intruder's demise. Meanwhile, his body, wrapped up in a shower curtain and a carpet, is waiting patiently in the living room by the door.
My mind races, trying to dissect Vartan's words.
What game is the old Armenian playing?
Is this a power move, a subtle threat to keep me in line?
Or is there something more sinister at work here?
No, it can't be that fox.
He said it himself, the Solovey family has made him a lot of money. Besides, he won't find anyone with this much power and connections back in Russia to do this operation. If Toro is involved, it's most likely Shtyk. Those two already partnered up once before when Shtyk hired Toro's man to kidnap my brother. Or perhaps La Alianza wants to retaliate because I took my business to the Arellanos.
I glance at Nico, his face a mask of blankness as he scrubs the blood-stained floor. His cuts on both arms are bandaged clumsily–best I could do under the circumstances–to stop the bleeding. The sight of him on his hands and knees, cleaning up a mess that should never have been his to deal with, sends a pang of guilt through me.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, the words feeling inadequate. "I never meant for you to get caught up in this."
Nico looks up at me, his blue eyes suddenly filled with a mix of emotions. "Too late for that now, isn't it?" he says sarcastically with a hint of a smile. "We're in this together, for better or worse."
I shake my head. "Wedding vows have taken a new meaning, indeed."
He lets out a chuckle. "Your mind works in mysterious ways, Vladimir Solovey."
This is the first time he said my full name and it has my heart thumping faster in my chest.
No, don't think about it, I tell myself in my head.
For now, though, we have a body to dispose of and a secret to keep. And the sun will begin to rise soon.
"Put the glass in the laundry bag, then rinse it with bleach in the sink," I instruct Nico as he rises to his feet to sweep up what's left of my decanter. "We'll get rid of it along with the corpse, but it's best we do not leave any DNA on it.”
"Okay." Nico nods without any further questions and does as I say while I turn my focus back to the dark, sticky pool staining the bedroom carpet. Armed with resolve and cleaning supplies, I finish up erasing traces of the night's gruesome events.
I'll have Ivan get rid of the carpet, but not tonight.
Once done, I rummage through my closet and grab a change of clothes for us.
"We'd better not walk out of here looking like extras from a horror flick," I mutter. "Have to change now and then again once we dispose of the body."
Nico's lips twist into a humorless smile. "Trying to avoid questions from the paparazzi, Vlad? I thought all publicity was good publicity in your world."
I snort. "I prefer to keep my face off the front page of the true crime rags. Thanks."
By 4 AM, the overnight building security guard goes on break, just as predicted. Nico and I hoist up the macabre bundle and make our exit, the service elevator descending us into a silence that feels almost mundane after the chaos upstairs. The parking lot greets us with eerie tranquility, not a soul in sight as we load the body into the back of my SUV.
"What about the security cameras?" Nico asks, glancing around warily as he slams the trunk closed.
"Ivan will handle it. I'll make the call once we're on the road."
Nico's eyes narrow. "You sure it's smart getting him involved? I thought the point was to keep this under wraps."
"Ivan is solid. He will not ask questions or say anything." I pull the driver's side door open, then pause. "Besides, he doesn't need to know the specifics. As far as he's concerned, this is just another loose end that needs tying up."
"Trust me my family knows tactics to press people for information if he's ever caught."
"Ivan's torture proof. People who have nothing to lose don't talk. In any case, he will not get caught."
"My uncle warned me not to mess with the Russians," Nico comments, climbing into the passenger seat.
"Too late now."
The city dissolves into darkness as we leave it behind. The open desert unfurls before us. An unmarked grave for an unnamed victim. How fitting.
Nico sits rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out into the waning night. I can practically hear his mind churning.
Strange, the risks a person will take to keep a secret.
Is this really about self-preservation? Or something deeper? The questions gnaw at me as the miles slip past.
Who am I really protecting here? My empire? My reputation? I'm not the one bound by the shackles of tradition and judgment.
No. If I'm being honest with myself, I didn't do this for me. Yuri's corpse could continue rotting in the ground for all I care. Let the whole story about me and the spare Italian prince come to light. There's no one to tell me what to do anymore. No one to fear.
But Nico... His whole world would crumble. And somehow, that thought makes my chest constrict.
I glance over at him, his face tired in the passing flashes of highway lights. In this moment, with the weight of our actions hanging between us and the desert looming ahead, one thing becomes crystal clear.
Somewhere along the line, against all reason and logic, I started to care about what happens to Nicola Morelli.